Thursday, January 03, 2013

Oh how I've gone all over this world in flip flops even when people are all, "Um, people don't really wear flip flops in Italy." and "You do realize it'll be snowing when we get off the plane in Austria, right?" and such.

Because, yes, I have the coldest feet in womankind. Bubba can attest to this with much enthusiasm, I assure you. Because I like to get into bed and, when faced with his nightly chiding, poke the backs of his legs with my ice toes.

HA HA! Call me bizarre names and make tons of noise getting into bed, will you!

Trust me - he sorely deserves this treatment.

Also, it's very romantic in our house.

With my ice toes and his absurd jokes and the dog's nightly butt licking circus. ROMANCE! It's all around us.

Which is why Bubba got me the world's most romantic gift this holiday season...

I guess the man's Proper Shoes threshold was breached when I was going about my farm work in shiny red rubber boots. Not that those boots weren't proper footwear for the occasion - it was fucking muddy out there up to the knees - but those boots don't have steel toes, durable leather uppers, a green wear indicator stripe and the John Deere emblem stamped on the heel.

Because you can really feel assured of the workman quality of something when a logo most commonly associated with tractors is stamped on the thing.

At least that's the theory I'm working off of, here. Whether it's based in reality, I have no idea.

What? What is this dramatic turn of events? Where are the all-purpose flip flops in all of this footwear madness? What about the frozen alien toes?

Yeah. I'm a changed woman and I'll tell you why.

SHOVELING.

People, have I ever told you how many times I've bruised the arches of my feet? Particularly my right shoveling foot? No?

Many, many times.

I have bruised the arch of my right foot (and sometimes the left one, too, because I'm equal opportunity like that and also I injure the right one first and then have to fall back on the awkward left one) many, many times doing yardwork like shoveling in improper shoes.

There was a time when I had to take a break from running because I bruised my right foot so severely while shoveling in my old running shoes that I had a visible black and blue swath across the arch of my right foot.

I was only mildly ashamed of myself. Bubba was horrified and used that instance to gently suggest for the one thousandth time that perhaps I might consider GETTING SOME PROPER SHOES DAMN IT WOMAN.

No, he didn't say it like that. He's way too nice. But I got the hint. In the sense that I registered his dismay and went on with my life just as I had been living it before - in flip flops and improper footwear.

Anyway - again, the guy was right. He's been on a real streak lately with his righteousness, which would be annoying if it weren't so life-enriching. I mean, first he teaches me how to make the best iced tea ever and now this? Now I'm a shoveler possessing super human strength?

Allow me to provide evidence to support my claim.

Ratty Santolina bound for the yard waste bin BEFORE Proper Shoes

DURING

And AFTER approximately 15 minutes.

These boots should come with a damn cape, is what I'm saying.

That job of digging out three very established and overgrown Santolina bushes would have taken me at least twice as long if I were in my normal yardwork footwear and perhaps three times as long plus a trip to the ER if I were in my footwear of choice - the mighty flip flop.

But no, I put on my steel toe, arch supporting, durable leather with the green wear indicator stripe having John Deeres and got that shit done.

And if a single one of you puts Git 'er Dun in the comments, I will brutally murder you. Really now, do not test me on this.

ANYWAY - these boots filled me with so much shoveling confidence that, after easily tearing out the Santolina without even damaging a single lady hoof, I went on a mad digging spree all drunk with the power of the boots and TAH DAH the overgrown and dying lavender are OUT and sitting at the curb waiting for Pinchy to come haul them away to Greenwaste.

You're so dead right now.

The grapes say THANK YOU FINALLY.

So yeah, proper shoes are now a thing that I understand.

Now that I can approach a big shoveling/digging/getting the EFF rid of yard shit project without the foreboding that comes from knowing that walking will be a tiring challenge for at least one week afterward.

OK, so I'm not entirely free of the Challenge of Walking, thanks to my impromptu super hero weeding session that followed this Let's Dig Everything Out of the Yard session, but that had nothing to do with shoveling. Or boots. Or super heroes, really.

If only John Deere made boots for my hamstrings somehow because YEOWCH.

I don't think I'll ever be in such good shape that weeding the yard won't render my hamstrings asunder.

7 comments:

Well, you know my woodchuck is totally in agreement with your Bubba on this one. I have pretty much nothing but proper shoes at this point. Which is kind of sad, actually.

P.S. I'm sure it will amuse you to know that I'm typing this on my laptop in the kitchen as I wait for my experimental liquid handsoap to come to the boil. Because what I needed was one more thing that I have to make myself instead of buying it as the store like a normal person. But I know you understand.

I feel like you are maybe getting out of control with shoveling?? :) Matt got these pants that are made from like, firehose? Like legit firehose. It's from the Duluth Trading Company. Apparently, these are the shit and he wears them every day and you pretty much cannot ruin them. So if they make a chick's version, you might love those as well.

OK I seriously had to consider the flip-flop issue when we moved from SoCal to NorCal after college. I had worn flip-flops pretty much everyday for 8 years. It is NOT warm in Nor Cal generally and flip flops outdoors in are simply not a reality for most of the year. "Regular" shoes are simply not something I will ever be used to.....

I hate shoes myself. Even flip-flops. I may have some kind of sensitivity disorder; I think things touching my feet or my hands.

Butcha know, when you work with horses (your own, or professionally), you WEAR SHOES. Not just shoes, but shoes with reinforced toes. When you acquire a draft cross--you know, the great big horses with platter feet, like the Budweiser Clydesdales--you learn about steel toes, too. The Spouse and I both have slip-on barn shoes with steel toes for everyday chores and for running outside if we hear something worrying. Don't want to have to take the time to put on boots; it might be an emergency! (It seldom is...but when it is, it IS.)

Man, I hate shoes. I feel you, I really do.

But hey, if you're going to have to burden your feet with great heavy hunks of nyeech, they might as well be top quality, precisely-designed-for-the-job hunks of nyeech. For this reason I have a surprising number of shoes, for someone who hates shoes...more than most guys, but many, many fewer than most women :) (You know. The formal shoes in case of actual formal anything, ugh. The ballet slippers that I keep in the car because I might have to go into some stupid STORE or RESTAURANT that requires shoes. The minimalist things I can get away with most places that require shoes but don't check--they're called "lyrical dance sandals" and they're almost not even shoes. The heavy-duty barn shoes. The riding shoes with the heel and smooth sole. The professional work boots. The shoe purpose-designed for the job at hand, or the least amount of "shoe" that I can get away with wearing.)

[2013 update: You can't comment as an anonymous person anymore. Too many douchebags were leaving bullshit SPAM comments and my inbox was getting flooded, but if you're here to comment in a real way like a real person, go to it.]

Look at you commenting, that's fun.

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Sucks, right?

Anyway, to remedy this, I usually come back to my posts and post replies in the comment field with you.

But, if you ever want to email me directly to talk about pumpkins or shoes or what it's like to spend a good part of your day Swiffering - shoot me an email to finnyknitsATgmailDOTcom.